Dancing With Death
by SylverSpyder
Summary: You ever wonder why Sam can't die like a normal person? Every time he's strangled he stands right back up again, clears his throat and shouts for Dean. What if Sam has an unexpected friend on his side? What if all his life Sam has been Dancing with death?


**I don't own anything. Not even Sam. Or death. Too bad.**

* * *

The newborn baby cooed quietly as he nestled in his father's arms, eyes clamped tight against the searing pain of the white lights. The world was cold and open and unfamiliar. The infant was confused, curious.

"Shhh…" The voice was quiet, comforting. There was something cool on the child's forehead, something smooth, blocking the searing-burning-light. "Open your eyes, child," the command was soft, compassionate. The child's eyes flickered open.

The world around him was dark and shadowy but there was one thing in focus. The face was ageless and sexless. It was impossible to tell whether it was a man or a woman. The eyes… The eyes were black as midnight and deep, so that when you looked far enough, you felt like you were falling in space, stars streaming past in shards of light.

"Hello, Sam," the face smiled. "It's so good to finally meet you." The smile fell. "There aren't many people that come back to visit me for a second time, yet alone the dozens of times we'll be seeing each other."

The infant didn't notice that there were voices around him and a frantic yelling of "Not my baby!" The voices didn't matter.

"Death is lonely," the voice whispered, a smooth hand fondling the infant's sparse, dark hair. "But I'll be watching you, Sammy. You'll be seeing me, son." The fathomless eyes stared into Sam's. "You're different than the rest, boy. I'll be watching you, maybe not in my true form, but I'll keep an eye on you." Death smiled again. "If Death follows you, do not fear it, Samuel Winchester. I shall visit, but it is not to me to take you. Our friendship is one that shall last through the ages."

When the hand fell from Sam's forehead, letting the searing-burning-light touch his sensitive eyes, he screamed, peals of sound echoing in the hospital.

"My baby," a relieved voice cooed. "It's a miracle!"

Sam Winchester was born early. Four pounds and two ounces. But he was alive. And then he wasn't. They didn't even notice at first as the proud father held the two week old infant burrowed against his chest, but the baby was so still. When they realized he wasn't breathing, there was a chaotic rush of movement as the doctors dove to fix things, to save him. Over it all, there was the cries of his parents, the shouts of his father and his mother's pleading screams. When unexpectedly and without warning the babe's cries joined those of his parents, the world stood still as the whole room seemed to heave a sigh of relief.

* * *

Dean Winchester was going to meet his baby brother for the first time. It was the beginning of the end of the world, and death couldn't miss it, couldn't miss Sammy meeting his brother, even if a tiny part of death hated Dean for drawing Sam's attention. Once Sam and Dean meet, he knew, death cannot pull one from the other.

So Death watched from the room of the woman across the hall (who was no more, having supped with death), watched Dean take Sam into his arms, the four year old's eyes lighting up.

"I'll protect him… My Sammy," Dean muttered to the tiny frame he held bundled in his arms. Death suppressed a growl as he pushed away the need to move on to the next person. He'd send a reaper. No, what bothered him was Dean. Dean's words. That was his job. Death would protect his Sammy. Dean…

Well, unfortunately, Sammy needed Dean. So Death would leave him alone for now. Well, mostly alone. He might visit sometimes. He was, after all, human, for the sake of the expression…

* * *

Five year old Samuel Winchester gripped his brother's hand tightly as they stepped onto the playground.

Wide-eyed, he stared at the swing set and the other children playing before a mute tug pulled Dean's attention and they headed over to the swings.

Soon they were playing, eyes lit up with joy and laughter as the swings propelled them ever higher.

A bit farther away, a little girl playing in the sandbox frowned as a funny feeling came over her. She struggled to take a deep breath, but found she could only wheeze. The sun suddenly seemed hotter than before, and she was sweating, her bangs damp and her eyes wide.

"M-M- Mama," she wailed, still wheezing, then fell to the ground.

A moment later, she shifted slightly, opening her eyes, now a fathomless black. Mechanically sifting sand through her fingers, she watched two boys play on the swings with a frown. They were so young. Lucky Sam was clumsy, or she wouldn't have any excuse to visit sometimes. She smiled. Maybe a biking accident next. Sam never remembered when he came back, but the talks they had were so invigorating…

Standing up from the sandbox and brushing off her dress, the little girl straightened her pigtails and skipped over to the swings.

"Hi," she exclaimed, drawing the brown-haired boy's attention. "I'm Janine. That's a J and an a and a nine. Who're you?"

The boy stared at her. "I- I'm Sam."

* * *

Death stood up, crinkling his nose.

The little girl's body fell with a thump to the floor behind him. He felt no guilt.

The girl would have died whether he had interfered or not. He just gave her family a few more hours with their child. In turn, he got a few more hours with Sam, who was growing up quite well, considering his situation.

What an intelligent child! Death was already planning his next visit. This was the start of a beautiful friendship.

* * *

Nine-year old Sam shook his father awake. "Daddy! Dad! There's something in my closet! Please get up, please…"

In his bed, the oldest Winchester rolled over with a reluctant groan and without even opening his eyes, pulled a gun from beneath the pillow next to it and handed it to his shocked nine-year old.

"Here, kid. Aim for the heart. If it doesn't stop moving, wake Dean up." With a snore, the man rolled over onto his back.

In the closet, Death's fingers twitched with temptation. Sam didn't know how to use the gun. It could just be a little accident… No. It would cause too many questions when Sam came back. An electrical accident tomorrow though… Or strangling. Strangling always worked.

* * *

As the years passed, Death found himself visiting more and more often, with more and more excuses.

Every kid had an invisible friend, right? And a lot of kids managed to break their necks falling through first story windows. And get strangled by possessed shower curtains. And choke to death on a bullet for a forty-five (he was getting desperate). Or drown while brushing their teeth. Sam was just clumsy. Yeah. If anyone noticed that a few times he should have died and didn't or came back and shouldn't have… Sam did work with the Supernatural. When the car crash left Dean in a coma (Death was just playing, honest. He wasn't really going to kill the brat. He wouldn't do that to Sammy.), no one seemed to notice that Sam should have died. No one knew that for a few moments, he had. No one knew that his skull had been crushed by the force of the collision or that his ribs had snapped, his legs crushed…

Death almost lost his friend to heaven hell or someplace in that moment, and that wasn't fair!

No one could blame him if he lost his temper and a few- dozen- people died all over the world. It was a part of life.

That time he couldn't risk keeping Sam for a conversation. Azazel was coming. They would talk later.

* * *

Sam, his hair grey with age, sat down at the chess board.

"Come on, dude. I know you're out there."

"Tsk, tsk," Death sighed, sitting down at the table. "Playing with Death, again?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Just don't let Dean catch you here. He'll have a heart attack! And then you'll bring him back and he'll kill you. He still doesn't know what you're really like. You're damn good at faking it. Really, you're all soft and cuddly on the inside. You were just lonely again."

Death laughed at his friend's exclamation. "You know you'll wake up soon, and rolling your eyes is rude. You know that Sammy."

"Yeah," Sam sighed. "What was it this time?"

"Acid," Death said with a grin.

Sam rolled his eyes again. Sometimes irritating death could be fun. "Really? Getting inventive in your old age?"

Death raised an eyebrow, staring confounded at the board, trying to understand how Sam had just done that... "Yet you still always beat me at chess."


End file.
